


To Bear All Things

by Unrepentant_Marvelite



Series: Coming Home [3]
Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Cancer, Families of Choice, Foster Care, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Major Illness, Medical Procedures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:08:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5936284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unrepentant_Marvelite/pseuds/Unrepentant_Marvelite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik and Charles are building a life together, navigating their way through the ups and downs of life as a couple and as guardians to the many children lucky enough to wander through their open door. Their life is at times messy and terrifying and inconvenient. It is full of scraped pennies and sleepless nights and noisy dinners. However, neither of them would trade away an instant, not for anything in the world.</p><p>That is, until Charles gets sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You’re going to _love_ him. Yes, even you, Erik Lehnsherr are going to have no choice but to completely adore him. Everyone does.”

“These are quite impressive claims you are making, MacTaggert. If everyone is loving him, why is he single?”

Moira rolled her eyes. She was seated on his desk instead of in the chair placed beside it precisely because she knew how much it irked him. She seemed to do many things solely because they irritated him. Like setting him up on a blind date, for example. Without the courtesy of his permission beforehand, of course.

“Because people are idiots. They can never get past the kid thing and the fact that he has his higher priorities than just getting laid. But other than that--”

“Hang on, ‘kid thing?’ What do you mean by this?” Erik was very aware that she had tried to bury that little tidbit and move on before he noticed.

She waved her hand dismissively. “He’s got a couple kids. Get over it. He’s a great guy and you’re really going to miss out if you shut him down just for that. Face it, Lehnsherr, you’re 32. At this point, any guy you date is likely to have a couple of rugrats stashed away somewhere. At least Charles is going to be upfront about it.”

Erik was frankly a little offended she seemed to think 32 was too old for someone to be looking for a first-time serious relationship but he said nothing. It was easier to give her a withering look and huff his irritation at her than try to find the English words to express himself properly.

“Where is it you put the reservation, then?” Nowhere Italian, he hoped. The standard American idea of Italian food was so _heavy._

“Soleil Parisien at six. And he said to tell you he’s only got a sitter ‘til nine so…” she trailed off, awkward for the first time. _So don’t expect any sex_ he finished in his head for her. That was fine, he supposed. At least the food would be good, anyway. He liked French food, even the American imitation of it.

\---

Erik drummed his fingers on the table as he waited. He was quickly getting over the bout of nervousness that had seized him, unexpectedly, two hours ago when he scrambled through his closet for the perfect shirt/slack combination. He had tried maybe fifteen different outfits searching for that perfect balance between “responsible, mature” and what Moira called his “sexy panther” look. Finally, he reminded himself that he shouldn’t care so much what this perfect stranger thought of him; he was going to enjoy a nice dinner and never see the man again.

But now, after waiting for twenty minutes alone in the restaurant, nibbling on rolls to keep the wine in his belly company, he was no longer nervous but quickly becoming irritated. Was he not going to come? There was an American expression for this, he tried to remember… Ah. This was what is was to be “stood up.” Erik decided he’d give the man another ten minutes before heading home. He’d give Moira an earful in the morning and hopefully she would be chastened enough to stay out of his personal life from now on.

He’d just about signaled the waiter to bring the check for his wine when a sodden mess of a man stumbled in the front door. He was far wetter than anyone making the dash from the parking lot in the light rain that was falling had any right to be.

“Sorry, sorry!” he apologized to the maître d’ as he slopped water all over the entryway.

“That’s all right, sir,” the maître d’ said as he signaled an unlucky busboy to come clean the floor, “Do you have a reservation?”

“I, um, yes… Wait, I mean, no! I’m… meeting someone? My friend, she made the reservation, blind date, it was supposed to be, you see, but I’m terribly late! I can’t imagine he’s stayed--”

“What was the gentleman’s name, sir?”

“I—oh damn, I’ve got it somewhere!” and he began frantically searching his pockets, pulling out a sodden billfold, a set of keys, several soaked receipts and an unidentifiable wrapper of some sort, piling them all, sopping wet on the maître d’s appointment book.

“Here!” He exclaimed, holding up a bit of dripping paper. He squinted at the thing, held it up to the light and, but G-d, he was _striking._ Wet hair curling at the edges, jacket badly-tailored and matched with a horrible tie yet none of it managed to completely hide just how _pretty_ he was.

“Erik! Erik… Lahns… no, no, there’s another bit… bloody hell, it’s smudged here, see? Can you read that?” he shoved the paper at the maître d’. “Is that an ‘e’ or an ‘a’ do you think?”

“Sir, I haven’t the slightest--”

That was when Erik found himself standing.

“You are looking for me, I think. Moira’s friend, yes?”

“Yes! That’s me, I…” he swung around to face Erik and trailed off. His eyebrows peaked. He swallowed. Blinked.

“…I’m. You’re. You’re Erik?”

“Yes, Erik Lehnsherr. Are you… Are you Charles?”

The man swallowed again. Then, horribly, licked his lips. Erik knew it wasn’t meant to be sensual, likely wasn’t even conscious, but he couldn’t help thinking about that little flicker of tongue. Suddenly, Erik found his own mouth very, very dry.

“…Oh! Yes! I’m so sorry, yes! I’m Charles Xavier and so late, I’m so sorry! I can’t believe you’re so tall—I mean, still here! I can’t believe you’re still here! My car broke down, the stupid thing, then I was out in the wet with the tow man and my mobile here…” he motioned to the blocky device on his belt, “…is only for work or emergencies and I didn’t know how to contact you anyway--!”

“It’s ok, truly. Please, I did not mind the wait. Won’t you sit, now?” Erik broke in. The man, the Charles-man, hardly paused his speech. He let Erik help him out of his jacket and hand it, dripping, to the coat check before allowing himself to be steered into the empty chair across the table. Erik signaled for more wine and watched, mesmerized as Charles flapped his hands, leaned forward and twisted his entire body into the telling of his story about a harrowing journey across town in the gale and hurricane outside. Erik had to wave off the waiter to give them more time when he showed up to take their orders because Charles had hardly paused for breath let alone to look at the menu.

“…so now I suppose I’ll be stuck taking the bus to the office until the car is finished at the shop.” He took a sip from his wineglass for the first time. His eyes widened.

“God--! Did you pick this?”

“Yes? Is it alright?” Erik asked, faintly alarmed.

“Alright? Erik, this is _fantastic_. I haven’t had wine like this in years!” He took another long sip to illustrate and closed his eyes in satisfaction. “Just _splendid_.”

Erik, now fairly amused by the reaction, saw his opportunity.

“Won’t you look now at the menu? I’m sure there are other _splendid_ things to try soon.”

“Oh…” And now he blushed right down to the collar (or maybe further, Erik’s mind whispered), “Oh, I have been talking too much, haven’t I? I’ve been told… well, I’ve been told I have a tendency to do that when I’m nervous. I’m sorry, let me just have a look now, you must be starving!”

Erik was still stuck on the part where Charles was nervous.

“Why are you nervous?”

“Well…” he’d buried his face quite effectively in the menu, “… Moira’s told me about you. Honestly, I can’t believe you agreed to this, especially with me being so horribly late.”

“What has she said? Nothing terrible, I hope so.”

“No! No, of course not. In fact she… well, she was very complimentary. And she said you were still single even though you’ve been here for… what? Five months already? I couldn’t believe it! I never thought you’d want to do something like this with me… hang on,” He stopped flipping through the entrees abruptly and looked up at Erik with consternation. “Hang on, she did tell you about my kids, yes? She said she’d mentioned it but--”

“She told me, yes.”

“Really?” He looked truly gobsmacked. “And you’re… you’re all right with that? Me having the children, I mean? They are the most important thing in my life, of course, and most people… most men I meet are usually not excited about putting up with that sort of _baggage_.”

“I don’t see what is ‘baggage’ about it more than another thing. Moira also was good enough to point out,” he cleared his throat self-consciously, “I am not exactly a young man, no longer. Many people my age have children. It is to be expected and I cannot tell you it bothers me. She also assured me… what was it? ‘I would have no choice but to adore you.’”

When Charles let out a startled laugh at that, Erik decided, right then, that he wanted to do whatever necessary to get Charles to laugh again.

\---

By the time their food came, Erik had managed to make Charles laugh (and on one occasion, giggle) several more times. He was concerned the good wine was more than partially responsible for his success. That and the nerves Charles confessed to though any reminder of them seemed to melt away as the evening wore on.

The food was not nearly as excellent as the wine had been but Charles seemed happy enough with it that Erik kept his comments to himself. He was certain he could do a better _coq au vin_ than the one Charles was enjoying and began making plans to fix it one evening for Charles when the thought hit him: he was planning on seeing this man again. When had that happened?

They made it all the way through their dinners (arguing deliciously the entire time about everything from the recent economic downturn to science fiction film adaptations) and were discussing the possibility of dessert when the subject of Charles’ children came up again.

“…and poor Henry, he’s such a sweet thing but, really, his shyness sometimes comes off to the other boys as disinterest or condescension even and that is the last thing he means, of course, but he is just _so_ afraid of doing the wrong thing with them that he hides in his schoolwork and they think he’s snubbing them,” he sighed heavily and shook his head. “It’s just so hard to watch him struggle like that. And especially at his age!”

“How old is he?” Erik asked. He would’ve guessed from Charles’ age that his children were fairly young but his calculations were quickly thrown askew at the revelation that Charles apparently had a son far enough out of babyhood to have homework and be involved in petty school-yard politics. Perhaps it was his estimation of Charles’ age that was in error. Or maybe he had simply underestimated the man’s precocity.

“He’s eleven,” Charles said with another sip of the dwindling wine. He closed his eyes contentedly to better savor it but opened them abruptly again when Erik began to cough and choke. “Are you alright?”

There was no hiding his surprise. If he managed to not die of aspiration, surely it would be from the mortification of his unguarded reaction.

“You… <ahem>… you have an eleven-year-old?”

“Yes…” replied Charles slowly. Then his face sprang into understanding. “Oh, oh God! Moira! She didn’t explain, did she? Not properly, I mean. Oh, that woman! I’m so sorry, Erik, what must you think of me! No wonder you inhaled half a glass of wine! My kids, Hank, Marie, and Betsy, they’re all foster kids! I don’t really believe that makes them any less _my_ children, of course, but from a biological standpoint it certainly warrants further explanation!” He laughed and Erik wasn’t sure if it was just the wine in his lungs that made him miss the humor. He didn’t understand what Charles meant. What was that word… “foster?" How did that explain how Charles apparently had three kids, at least one of whom had to have been conceived while the man was still in secondary? Erik didn’t think he’d even known the mechanics of sex at that point beyond a few crude drawings in the locker room and some hints in a biology textbook. Why, he’d hardly begun to realize that women were not the primary focus of his attraction at that age!

It was clear Charles could see his incomprehension.

“Where have I lost you?” he said worriedly. “It’s the ‘foster’ thing, isn’t it? I’m sorry, I don’t know any German to translate it or even if such a thing exists in Germany to begin with…” He looked upset but whether it was with the language barrier or his disappointment over Erik’s reaction to his children, it was difficult to tell.

“I’m sorry my English is not better… perhaps you can explain it and then I will know?”

“Right, yes, of course. It’s, well, all of my babies aren’t _my_ babies, exactly, that is, they didn’t start that way, you see? They aren’t mine by blood, they all come to me when, for one reason or another, their families can’t care for them properly any more. Sometimes it’s only for a short time, a few weeks or a few days even until whatever problem was occurring at home has been resolved but sometimes… well sometimes it’s more permanent. Henry, he’s my newest right now, his parents were killed in an auto wreck. They weren’t close with his extended family so the government is now responsible for his care and I’m his guardian until he is permanently adopted or someone else in his family steps up to take him in. It… well, unfortunately, it doesn’t usually happen that way. In the ones whose parents are gone, they usually stay in the foster care system until they are 18 and legally adults. I do my best to give them what they need until then to grow into happy, healthy young people. They’re good kids, really, they’ve just been put in terrible situations and usually haven’t a lot of experience being loved… Anyway, that’s foster care, I suppose. Do you… did I make it any clearer? Do you have something like that in Germany?”

The thing that caught Erik’s attention most while Charles talked was his body language. He leaned in eagerly as he spoke, excited to explain what was obviously his passion. He had spoken of nothing else that evening in that manner, not even his work as a child psychologist. His face fell when he mentioned the death of Henry’s parents and how most children, once in the system were in it until adulthood. But, still, his eyes lit up with pride when he mentioned the kids growing into productive members of society and only needing a little extra love and care to overcome their miserable circumstances.

Erik wanted to tell Charles what an amazing man he thought he was. What a wonderful, selfless human being he must be to take these strangers into his home and give them his whole, beating heart for perhaps only a few days at a time. He wanted to tell Charles that he’d never met someone, young, single and good-looking willing to sacrifice his social life (his _sex_ life even!) for the well-being of children not even related to him by blood or obligation. He wanted to say all those things and add how much he’d enjoyed himself that evening and would love to do it again, maybe make a go at a real relationship for the first time in a long time. But instead, when Erik opened his mouth, all that came out was, “Pflegekinder.”

Charles blinked.

“That is the word. In German, I believe, for what your children are to you. You are their Pflegevater. And I…” why was this so difficult, he wondered? “…I think it is beautiful. You are more their vater than any man who created them by birth.”

And then Charles blushed into a smile that made Erik want to reach across the table and kiss him, right then, in front of the entire restaurant.

They asked for the check soon afterwards. Erik insisted on paying only so he could have the satisfaction of asking, “Well, now you must do the next one, yes?” and seeing Charles blush again.

The rain had slowed to a stop when they stepped out onto the street. Charles made noises about catching a bus to get home which Erik silenced by walking him back to his car and opening the passenger door. There, Charles hesitated.

“Erik… I’m sorry. I… I had a lovely time with you this evening and I certainly want to see you again but… I need to go to my own home tonight. My sister is babysitting for me only until nine and--”

“Charles. May I offer you a ride home?”

He stopped mid-ramble, his hands freezing in gesticulation. His eyebrows went up and his mouth made a little “oh” before he frowned again.

“I… I can’t invite you in, Erik,” he said quietly.

“I did not mean for you to.”

“No, I don’t mean just tonight. I… Erik, you’re lovely, darling, but… I hardly know you. Even if I did, even if I knew you as well as I hope to one day… I still won’t be able to bring you into my home until I’ve talked to my kids and made certain they were comfortable with it. Some of them don’t do so well with strangers… especially, tall, male, strangers. Do you understand? My kids, they are my first priority. Now and always… I just need to know you understand that in case we… well, if we start to get to know one another better you don’t have any false expectations. Is that alright?”

Erik reached out, in a moment of boldness, and took hold of Charles’ hand.

“Yes, I understand.” Greatly daring, he lifted the hand to his lips and kissed it.

“Can I drive you to your home still?”

Charles smiled at him, easier than he had all night. He squeezed Erik’s hand in return and tipped up on his toes to plant a kiss on Erik’s cheek.

“Thank you,” he said as he slid into the car.

Moira, Erik realized, was going to be insufferable tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends."  
> 1 Corinthians 13:7-8


	2. Chapter 2

“It’s my back, you see,” he told Dr. Andres, “it’s been aching for months now. I’m certain I must’ve pulled something. Honestly, I wouldn’t even be here but it’s begun to affect things at home. I can’t pick up my baby in the morning anymore without my back being a mess for the rest of the day.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Andres said, tapping along at his computer. Charles liked Dr. Andres. He liked the fact he could bring all of his kids to the man’s small family practice without having to answer a lot of questions about why he always seemed to be accompanied by a rotating roster of juvenile delinquents. He like that the doctor was agreeable to squeezing him in on the end of a long day’s schedule if he had a kid in urgent need of stitches after a school-yard fight or antibiotics for a suspiciously-located “rash” they never seemed to want to tell him about until it got too uncomfortable to bear. He also liked that the office staff never complained about his paying fees in installments, either.

Dr. Andres clicked through a few files on his computer.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, hasn’t it?”

Charles frowned. “I was here two weeks ago with my new girl, Angel, remember?”

“Sure, I remember. I meant it’s been a while since I’ve seen _you_. As a patient. You’re long overdue for a physical and some blood work.”

Charles waved a hand. “I’m fine. Healthy, except for this thing with my back. I can come back another time for a physical if you really think it’s necessary…”

“I do, actually. Why don’t we just do it now? You’re already here, Charles. Tell me about your back while you get undressed and then I’ll look at it during your physical.”

“Oh. That’s… ok, I suppose.” Was there really anyone who would respond to the idea of an unexpected physical enthusiastically?

So the doctor pulled the little curtain in the corner of the room (but really, why the sham of modesty? The man was going to see every inch of him in a few minutes anyway!) and Charles neatly stacked his clothes and put on the little paper gown the doctor gave him while he answered questions about his back.

“It’s more of a nagging ache, really,” he said, climbing onto the exam bed. “I don’t remember specifically hurting it and nothing seems to make it better. I’ve tried ice, heat, every pain pill at the store and nothing’s worked.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” said Dr. Andres. He listened to Charles heart and lungs then poked a light in his eyes, ears, nose and mouth. When he got to his back, the doctor jabbed it a few times in different places and then had Charles lie down so he could do the same to his belly.

“Do you feel anything wrong, doctor?”

“No. Did it hurt more when I pressed on it?”

Charles shook his head. Then he sat up and let the doctor bend him about to see if anything made it worse. When lifting his legs had no effect, the doctor seemed puzzled but moved on.

“Now lift up your toes against my hands… both feet now… here, lift this right one too. Are you lifting it, Charles?”

“Yes,” he said, a little annoyed. Yes, of course he was lifting it! He leaned forward to look but the pain in his back kept him from going too far.

“Hmmm,” said Dr. Andres.

“Lets have you walk for me, just over to that corner of the room and then turn around and come back, please.”

All this getting up and down didn’t seem very therapeutic for his back but Charles did as he was told, trying to remain dignified in a paper gown that flapped open in the back.

“You have a limp.”

Charles frowned. “No, I haven’t. Listen, Dr. Andres, my legs are fine it’s just my back--”

“You’re lifting your right foot higher when you walk. It might be unconscious to keep you from stumbling. Have you been tripping or falling more recently?”

“I’ve been clumsy, I guess,” He’d never been the most graceful, Raven told him that all the time. “Maybe I tweaked my back stumbling?” Charles asked, trying to bring the conversation back on track to his real problem.

“Maybe. You don’t have the same strength in that foot either…”

“I haven’t had any problems with that,” said Charles shaking his head. “But what does any of this have to do with my back hurting?”

“Sometimes a pinched nerve in your back can cause some weakness or odd sensations in your feet. Has that right foot felt any different to you? Pins and needles, perhaps?”

“I mean, only when it falls asleep… I guess that has been happening more recently… How on earth would I have pinched a nerve though?”

“Well, picking up your little ones would do it. Lifting with your back bent instead of your knees, that sort of thing. It’s not uncommon, Charles.”

That really didn’t make him feel any better. He let the doctor finish poking and prodding him in relative silence, only responding to questions of “Do you feel that? What about this?” with nods and shakes of his head. Apparently he was missing the feeling in a bit of his right foot as well. This certainly was not what he was hoping for when he’d decided to take the morning off and come to the doctor today. He had hoped it would be a simple matter of filling a prescription for a stronger analgesic, maybe looking penitential while he got a stern talking to about taking better care of himself. He certainly hadn’t expected something to really be _wrong_.

“Well, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, Charles, but I think the next step is an MRI of your back.”

“That sounds expensive…”

“Your insurance will cover it. Well, they’ll probably want an x-ray first so I guess that’s really the first step…” He was back at his computer, typing away already.

Charles took the opportunity to find his pants and wondered how the hell he was going to manage the fee for an x-ray _and_ an MRI. He didn’t share the doctor’s confidence that his insurance would cover the cost… not, at least, without a number of phone calls and a good deal of arguing over the final bill.

“Oh, hang on,” said Dr. Andres, looking up at the sound of Charles pulling on his pants. “Let me finish your exam before you get dressed.”

“What do you still…” Charles frowned, then, “Ah.” Yes. The main reason he avoided going in for a physical as much as possible.

So the good doctor put on gloves and Charles dropped his trousers back around his ankles. He knew Dr. Andres was always professional. He also knew this was an important part of getting a physical. At least, that was what he always told his boys when they had to go in for their DCFS-mandated check-ups periodically. None of that prevented the blush from heating up his ears, however, when the man (who was decidedly _not_ Erik) began playing with his balls.

“Any problems in this department?”

“No, none at all,” Erik certainly seemed to have no complaints.

“Good to hear… hmmm.”

Charles waited a beat. Then several more. The doctor seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time feeling him up. He had just mustered the nerve to say something when—

“Charles, how long has this been here?”

“Um. My testicles? As long as I can remember…” He tried the joke to diffuse the awkwardness but the doctor’s expression never twitched from his frown.

“No, _this_ ,” he took Charles hand and placed it where he was feeling.

Charles felt the ripple in the otherwise smooth surface beneath his fingers. He couldn’t remember ever noticing that before. He felt his breath catch in his chest.

“I… I don’t know. What is that?”

Dr. Andres looked up at him. “And your partner. He’s never mentioned anything about feeling something different here before?”

“N-no…” Should he have? Was that something people did?

The doctor looked away. He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, with determination, he stripped off his gloves and moved back to his computer.

“Ok. Ok, fine, let’s forget about the x-ray and MRI for now. What I need you to do is get an ultrasound, Charles.”

“An ultrasound. Of my back?” he asked hopefully.

“No, of your testicles.”

“Oh. Um, ok,” he pulled up his pants. “And then the MRI and everything later?”

“Mmm-hmm,” said Dr. Andres, distracted. He made one final click and the printer on the counter began spitting out a sheet. He handed it to Charles when he finished dressing.

“Do you know where to go to get this done?”

“I think so, yes, but, hang on, I don’t need to go today, do I? I only took the morning off. I have a class this afternoon and office hours tonight… I can go later this week though.”

“No, I don’t need you to go this week, Charles, I need you to go now. As in, when you leave this office, you need to go straight there, do you understand?”

“I… I have a class… I can’t…”

“Charles,” and he put the paper aside. Charles had sat down at some point, halfway through buttoning his cardigan. The doctor took his hand. Charles couldn’t remember him ever doing that before. It was that gesture, more than anything, that scared the shit out of him the most.

“We need to see what this is. The sooner you get this done, the sooner we can get an answer. I know you have other responsibilities but this needs to take precedence. Your health needs to take precedence. Go right now, get this looked at and then I’ll be able to tell you whether or not to worry. Ok?”

“…to worry? What… what do you think it is?”

Dr. Andres leveled him a gaze. He squeezed his hand once before letting go and turning away.

“Let’s wait to see what it looks like under ultrasound first, alright?”

\---

Charles debated whether to call Erik before or after the test. In the end, he arrived at the medical building for the exam before he could make a decision.

He studied every twitch of expression the technician made while she did the test. She covered his bits in goop and told him, in a mechanical voice, that she wasn’t allowed to say anything about what she saw hidden in the complicated snowstorm of grey pixels on her monitor. Afterwards, she handed him a scratchy towel to clean himself up and, was that his imagination or had that been a gleam of pity in her eyes when she told him his doctor would be notified with the results within 24 hours?

He felt a buzzing, vibrating through his limbs as he walked back to his car. There was a ringing in his ears as well, persistent but not loud enough to drown out the whispers of doom ricocheting around his brain.

It was only when he tripped at the curb outside that he remembered what the doctor had said about his foot not working properly. There was a bench under a bus shelter nearby and he sat down to look at the offending limb. Maybe his toes did seem to flop a little when he tried to walk. How could he have missed that? How could he have missed the numbness or the change in his walk? How could he have missed the lump (for, his mind whispered treacherously, that was what it was, a lump, an irregularity, a _mass_ ) on his testicle?

His hands shook as he dialed Erik.

“Lehnsherr,” He grunted. He mustn’t’ve looked at the caller ID before picking up.

“…hi.” It was all he could manage. He had no idea what to say. If Erik had been here in person he wouldn’t have had to say anything. Erik would take one look at his face and read him like a book. He would scoop Charles up into his arms and whisper words of comfort into his ears, telling Charles he’d take care of it, don’t worry, he’d make it ok—

“Charles? Are you there?” It was remarkable how his voice changed once he recognized a loved one on the line.

“S-sorry, yes, I’m here. I… I just finished up with the doctor.”

“Oh? So late! Did he find if anything is wrong with your back? Or is it only not taking care of yourself, as I said?”

“It’s… he… well, he said he thought it was a pinched nerve maybe but… he got a tad distracted. He talked me into having a physical, you know, top to bottom, I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had one and… and he found a l-lump.”

“A lump? What is this? I don’t underst--”

“A lump, you know. A bump, an irregularity, a mass--”

“Yes, yes, I know what ‘a lump’ is but it is where, or your back? How does this--”

“No! Not on my back, on my testicle!”

“Your testicle? _Scheiße,_ Charles, what was he doing with your testicles?!”

“I told you, he was giving me a full physical! Come now, you know they do that! Check you for hernias and whatnot…” But the flare of irritation was gone as quickly as it’d come. “…It doesn’t matter. The point is, he was being thorough and he found something, Erik. He sent me straight from the office to have an ultrasound done. He didn’t let me go back to work, said I had to go right then and there. I’ve just finished and now… now they said I’ve just got to wait for the doctor to get the results. It’s… Erik, it’s really scaring the shit out of me, to tell you the truth.”

There was silence on the line.

“Perhaps…” he began, clearly choosing his words, “…perhaps it is nothing to worry about, _liebling_.”

“But… but what if it is? Something to worry about, I mean?” Charles whispered into the phone.

Erik sighed. “Then we will handle it when it comes.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes, of course.”

Charles bit his fist to keep a sob from squeaking out. It would only worry Erik more and he was being childish. He was right, there was no reason to jump to conclusions. He blinked away the tears that had sprung up unexpectedly.

“Charles? Are you alright? Still there? I’m coming home now.”

“No, no don’t, love. I’m fine, I promise,” he was surprised by how steady his voice sounded. “Just… it just caught me off-guard, you know? Please don’t come home early, I’m going in myself now. It’ll be good… the distraction will be good. I’ll see you tonight and we’ll know for sure once the doctor calls.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, thanks.”

“Ok…” he sounded doubtful. “I’ll see you tonight then. It will be all right... _Ich liebe dich, Liebling._ ”

“ _Ich liebe dich._ Have a good day, love.”

\---

Charles was just opening his door for office hours when his phone rang. It was Dr. Andres’ office.

“Mr. Xavier? This is Monica from Dr. Andres’ office. The doctor would like you to come by the office again tonight around 5:30. Will that be possible?”

“He… he what?” Were they even open that late? Charles couldn’t remember. “I, um, ok, yes, t-that’s fine, I suppose. I can come at 5:30.”

He hung up numbly. He texted Erik and looked at the clock. It was already 4:45. He couldn’t see himself concentrating for more than half a minute let alone half an hour.

He pasted a note on the door telling everyone to just email him their questions on his way out.

\---

Charles drove around aimlessly until the clock read 5:12. Then he drove to the office and waited in the parking lot. He stared blankly at a crow who appeared consumed with the need to peck at the ground. He couldn’t see what it was pecking at, why it proceeded to rap its beak ( _knock-knock, knock-knock_ ) futilely at the ground like that, time and time again ( _knock-knock, knock-knock_ ) and he’d just about made up his mind to get out of the car and shoo it away… when Erik pulled up.

He wrapped an arm around Charles’ shoulders and they walked inside without a word.

They waited in the waiting room until the last patient left for the evening. Even the secretary gathered her things and left. Then Dr. Andres came out himself.

“Charles, hi. Thanks for coming back.”

“Of course, you remember my partner, Erik?”

“Yes, sure. Here, come on back to my office…”

They sat around his desk and made small talk as the doctor clicked through some things on his computer. Charles thought he might need to excuse himself to go scream fairly soon.

“So, Charles. I got your results from the ultrasound back.”

“Oh?” He tried (and likely failed) to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

The doctor rotated his computer screen so they could see the image. A few gray and grayer smudges on a gray background.

“You see this here? This is a cross-section of your testis. This is the normal testicular tissue. And this? This funny-shaped thing here? That’s the lump. Now, if it were darker and more uniform in color we would know it was fluid-filled, like a cyst. But the odd shape, the color and irregularity of it… that isn’t like a cyst. That’s a mass of solid tissue.”

“Ok, so…?”

“So, the problem with testicular tumors--”

“Tumor?” said Charles, alarmed. He’d used one of the forbidden words, one of the ones he had pointedly been keeping himself from thinking all day.

“…it’s what we call any mass of tissue that’s growing somewhere it shouldn’t be. It doesn’t necessarily mean it’s malignant, just that it is something abnormal. This is why the next step with any tumor is usually to get a biopsy of the tissue so we can see if it’s malignant or benign. Unfortunately, with testicular tumors, the way the circulation to the testes and the scrotum is set up we can’t biopsy the tumor without running a risk of sending bits of it to other places. That can be very bad if it is, in fact, malignant. The only way we can know for sure with this type of tumor is by taking it out completely.”

“The tumor?” Erik asked.

“The testicle,” the doctor corrected.

Erik reached out to take hold of two of Charles’ fingers.

“You… you have to take out the whole thing? Really?”

“Yes… I’m sorry, Charles, but it’s the safest way. Thankfully, it’s a fairly simple procedure. You can have it done in an outpatient center and go home that day. And you’ll still have the other one… It shouldn’t affect any of your function either.”

“Oh…” he hadn’t even thought of that. “Oh, that’s good, I suppose.”

“So he has this surgery, yes? And then what is next?” Erik asked, pushing the conversation forward again, in a direction Charles suddenly felt himself reluctant to go.

“Then? Well, then the pathologist will look at the tumor under a microscope and be able to tell if it’s malignant and, if so, what type of cancer, what stage, etc.”

“And this takes how long?” Erik pressed.

“About two weeks, usually. They have to make very sure they know what they are looking at.”

“And what are the odds, the chances, of this, this tumor being a cancer?” Ah, and that was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Trust Erik to sink his teeth right to the bone. Charles felt very hot suddenly. Dr. Andres leaned back in his chair. He ran a hand through his hair. It looked like he might have been doing that a lot today.

“For a man Charles’ age, any mass on the testicle is not usually a good sign. The way the ultrasound pictures looked… I called an oncologist friend of mine, actually, to have him take a look. He knows this stuff far better than me, you understand? He sees this every day. I wanted his opinion before I talked to you, just so you’d have an idea. He looked at the pictures and… I’m so sorry, Charles. He… he’s fairly sure it’s cancer.”

Erik squeezed his fingers very tight.


	3. Chapter 3

It had become a wonderfully regular occurrence for Charles to stop by Erik’s apartment on his way home from work. His hours ran late (sometimes later even than Erik’s own!) by design so he could start after the kids safely got on the bus in the morning, a wholesome breakfast in their bellies and a nutritious lunch in their knapsacks.

He told Erik he usually got home just in time to throw something together for dinner and help with the last few dregs of homework. It made him wonder, at first, what they were doing now that Charles was spending an hour, sometimes more, at his apartment when he would usually be home with his _kinder_.

But, when asked, Charles only gave a sly little grin.

“Betsy, my oldest, is too smart for her own good. I don’t know for certain if she figured things out on her own or if she heard about my new ‘friend’ from Raven. The point is, she came to me the other day and offered to get everyone settled after school, start dinner and the like a few days a week if I wanted to, how did she put it, ‘ _have a little playdate’_ on my way home.”

It did little to assuage Erik’s guilt about stealing Charles from his family but having the man sprawled, punch-drunk from exhaustion, on his sofa every other evening with his ridiculous tie loosened enough around the neck to expose a patch of freckled skin…? That was enough to quickly bury any remaining misgivings Erik had under a thick layer of affection (and, yes, maybe a little arousal too.) Erik kissed the sly grin off Charles’ face and told him how very much he enjoyed their “playdates” together.

True, they had yet to get around to anything more physical than some enthusiastic dry-humping and necking on the sofa (the likes of which Erik had not participated in since the frantic days of puberty) but Erik found himself not minding as much as he expected to. In fact, he spent far more time thinking about sex with Charles when the man was _not_ around than when he was. He was content to just sit and listen to the man talk when he had Charles in his arms.

Soon enough, they worked out a regular schedule. Erik made special sure he was home in time to have things settled at home and start a kettle for tea on the evenings he knew Charles would stop by. At first, he needed to set a reminder at work to jar him out of whatever he was doing in order to wrap things up in time to head home. Despite the interruption, never had he looked forward to something breaking into his work as much as he did leaving for home in time to see Charles. Fairly soon, he didn’t even need the alarm anymore; his own anticipation (coupled with an admittedly excellent internal clock) was enough to ensure he got out of the office on time.

One evening, however, Erik stood at loose ends in his sitting room with a cooling pot of tea and no Charles.

He checked his watch. Then he checked his phone. Then he checked his email. Charles was fairly regular with his arrival and if he was going to be late (perhaps running behind in his appointments for the day or helping a last-minute patient navigate a minor crisis) or couldn’t make it, he would always call or shoot Erik an email earlier in the day to apologize. What if something had happened to him? What if that horrible car of his had broken down again and he was stranded somewhere, too ethically constipated to use his “work phone” to call for help? What if a patient, no, a disgruntled _parent_ of a patient, had hurt him and he was now lying unconscious in a hospital, no, _a ditch_ or a supply closet or a _warehouse_ \--?!

Erik took a steadying breath. He was being ridiculous. Charles was simply delayed at work and running late. It happened. He forced himself to go get his laptop and sit on the sofa, ostensibly finishing some data dredging for a new project. He spent more time than not refreshing his inbox.

It was nearly 45 minutes later when Erik’s doorbell finally rang. He scrambled to undo the chain and admit a tired, crumpled Charles babbling an apology about being late. Erik silenced that nonsense immediately with a kiss. He pushed Charles inside and took his briefcase from him, the knot of worry dissolving in his chest.

“Sorry, love, I’m afraid I might not be very good company tonight,” Charles said as he sagged onto the sofa. Erik dashed to the kitchen, ignored the fresh pot of tea he had brewed and pulled out a bottle of wine instead. Charles hardly ever drank with him in the evenings but the expression on his face made Erik think tonight might be a rare exception.

He let Charles moan about not wanting to be a bother and really, Erik, maybe I should have just gone home instead, and poured the glass of wine into his hand. He knew if it was in Charles’ hand he would sip it unconsciously between apologies and the polite protest would peter out eventually. Sure enough, fifteen minutes later he closed his eyes and finally let himself droop onto Erik’s shoulder. Erik moved their glasses to the coffee table and stretched out so Charles had no choice but to puddle onto his lap. It was only after Erik had worked some of the tension out of his shoulders with firm pressure that he began to speak.

“How was your day?”

He dug his thumb into Charles’ trapezius. He moaned indecently and Erik had to hide his smile. Only this morning, imaginings of a similar noise sneaking out of Charles would have involved a blowjob for at least one of them. But now, he was just happy to have the man in his arms and in one piece.

“Terrible. God, whatever you’re doing, don’t stop. Your hands are indecent, darling.”

“What happened?”

“Mmmm….” Erik considered letting it go. Charles was obviously exhausted. He never stopped talking, no matter how tired, and this stillness now was unprecedented. But then—

“I might be getting a new boy. Hopefully not for long, just an emergency placement… he’s the youngest of nine and his mum’s just been hospitalized. Dad, apparently, has a bit of a drinking problem and came home last night to beat the stuffing out of her.”

Erik swore. He wasn’t unaware of the nature of Charles’ work; he knew being a child psychologist for the county health department meant he was seeing some of the most fucked up kids coming from the worst homes in the area but it never took the edge off of hearing about a fresh case. He didn’t let his massage lose its rhythm.

“She fought back, of course, gave him a good cut across the cheek I hear, but she’s in the hospital now with a broken collarbone. Dad’s in jail for the time being and the older ones are staying with friends… unfortunately, they still need somewhere safe for the rest of the kids to stay until Mum gets back on her feet. Rest of the family’s overseas apparently. They’ve spread the little ones out over a couple different homes but they asked if they could send me the youngest. He’s a bit of the runt of the litter, I’m told. Not enough attention as it were, so he could really use some extra TLC now. I t-t-told them,” he stretched under Erik’s hands and failed to stifle a yawn, “I haven’t got the room for a long-term placement just now but I can get the girls to double up or put him in with Hank for a week or so… two at the most.”

“How old is he?” Erik wondered. The youngest of nine… _schei_ _βe,_ that was a lot of children.

“Mmm… eight I think.” One glass of wine and a back rub was apparently all he could take tonight. He nuzzled deeper into Erik’s chest. He took the opportunity to stroke Charles’ hair, smoothing the pointed edges that stuck out wildly after a day of Charles running his hands through it.

“Liebling, are you hungry?” Erik finally asked. He was loathe to break the silence and do anything that might remind him that he needed to get home.

There was no response except for Charles’ even breathing. A day like today and it was not inconceivable that this was the first break he’d had all day.

Erik considered his predicament. It was difficult to keep giving this up. He would like nothing better than for Charles to stay the night. He could cook for him, snuggle him into his own bed, sleep curled in his scent and then, perhaps if he was very lucky, show him some of the things he’d been dreaming about for the last few weeks.

But the last thing he wanted was for Charles to feel pressured into doing something he didn’t want to do.

“Leibling?” he tried again. He started to shift himself slowly upright bringing the sleepy Charles with him. It was painful to wake him but he knew Charles would appreciate the consideration of not letting him sleep too long. It was already later than he usually stayed.

Charles snuffled a little and frowned before coming back to consciousness. It was as though a part of his brain was trying to figure out why his pillow had suddenly stopped being horizontal.

“Erik? Oh-- Oh damn, what time is it?” he asked rubbing his eyes.

“Can I get you something to eat before you go?”

“Go…? Oh. Right, yes. I… I guess I should be going, then…” he ran hand through his hair, undoing all of Erik’s hard work to make it lie flat.

“It’s just…” Charles started at the same time as Erik began, “If you ever…”

Charles waved him on, even half asleep, manners won out over whatever he meant to say.

“You first.”

“No, I insist.”

“Erik, please. What were you going to say?”

“No, no, after you.”

Charles shook his head and yawned again.

“It’s just… if I do get this boy, Sean, I don’t think I’ll be able to see you much while he’s with me. He has enough turmoil in his life without me being gone every evening with you.” He met Erik’s eye sadly. Perhaps it was only a trick of the light, but Erik though he suddenly looked more tired than he had any right to be. It was so easy to forget Charles was neither as young nor as silly as he would have everyone believe.

“I understand.”

“I know you do, love,” Charles murmured. “You’ve been so understanding with all of this. So understanding and so patient, really. I’m sorry I can’t give you more of me… there just isn’t much left when it’s all over and done with, I’m afraid.”

Erik’s frustration with having to share Charles was beginning to feel petty and small. What right did he have to steal this man from his children? He was warned from the beginning the way things would be.

“I think you are worth it to be patient for,” Erik finally said.

He reached out to touch Charles’ cheek. He leaned into it like a cat and the caress turned into a kiss. It was only after they broke for air that Charles seemed to remember Erik had meant to say something else.

“It doesn’t matter,” he tried to deflect. But when Charles insisted, he sat back against the sofa and worked through the English in his head so it would all come out right.

“I only thought… I mean, your _kinder_ are your most important, I know, I accept this but… Charles, someone has got to take care of you once and again, yes? You look so tired just now… I know you must be getting home but remember that if you ever need a… a stop to maintain yourself… I don’t think this is the word I want…” Erik sighed. “Liebling, you work so very hard. I would not like to be in the way of that but… if there is a day, perhaps, or even only an hour, when you need to be taken care of how you take care of them… you may always come here. I could do that for you, you know. I would be very honored to take care of you sometime, Charles, if you need it. I… I care very much for you, you see.”

When he looked up, Charles was only Charles again with a sly little smile and a blush rising on his cheeks.

“What a coincidence,” he finally said. “I’ve discovered I care very much for you too, darling.”

\---

Erik kicked himself when he saw only leftovers in his fridge. He tried to apologize as Charles hung up the phone with his sister.

“Raven says I owe her ‘so huge’ but that she’s on her way over to the house now,” he said leaning against the wall. He was grinning again even as Erik piled Tupperware on the table.

“I haven’t anything prepared for dinner, I was meaning to eat these tonight… what are you wanting? I can go to the store and make you--” but that was when Charles jumped him.

They slammed against the counter, Erik scrabbled behind for purchase, leftovers crashed to the floor, a container split open, its contents splattered across the floor--!

But Erik found he didn’t mind.

Charles was clearly not as hungry as he’d anticipated… At least, not hungry for dinner.

\---

Then they were in the bedroom. Erik didn’t know what to do with his hands. They were kissing, rough and urgent, and he wanted to keep kissing, perhaps forever, but he wanted to do so much more but what if Charles didn’t want to and he wanted to have his hands on him, that tight little bum, but what if--

“Erik, fuck, darling, let me see you.”

Had there ever been a more wonderful phrase said aloud in the history of the English language? Erik was certain there was not.

And then they were peeling back Erik’s layers. He was fairly sure he lost a button in the struggle; he was also fairly sure he didn’t care.

Then there were hands on him. Square and strong and firm right on his chest. He found himself pushed back on to the bed with a Charles, naked from the waist down, standing between his legs.

“Oh G-d,” one of them said and Charles was nuzzling down his bare chest, sucking red marks into his front following down, down the trail of curls down to his waistband like a hound tracking its prize. A moment more and his trousers were undone and tugged down his thighs, he sprang free from the confines of his shorts and Charles made a truly _remarkable_ noise in the back of his throat. Erik wanted to gobble it up, to taste that noise in his mouth and keep it all for himself but then there was a warmth mouthing at his cock and he lost his train of thought.

He lost the English language entirely when Charles sucked him down. He had hardly any warning before he was engulfed in that very special kind of heat and nudging the back of a throat.

“Oh, oh--!” he couldn’t keep himself still! His hands jerked forward reflexively and wove into Charles’ hair, tugging him back to keep him from choking on his hips bucking deeper. He swore a blue streak when he felt Charles pop off.

_“Nein, was machst--?”_ he heard himself whine.

“Oh--! Oh, Erik, I’m so sorry!”

“ _Was sind Sie--?”_ he cleared the German out of his throat with difficulty, “What are you ‘sorry’ about?”

“I didn’t even ask--! I just pounced on you--!”

“What? What is the problem, here?”

“I’m sorry, Erik, it’s just… I couldn’t stop myself… it’s been a very long time and I, God, you just looked so sexy and it’s been so long--!”

Erik tumbled him into his arms and silenced him with kisses before he could really get going.

“I just couldn’t… resist… I don’t even… know if… you like that sort of thing!”

Was there any man on the planet who did not like that sort of thing?

He put his fingers to Charles’ red, red lips and sealed them closed with a kiss. The man’s shirttails hung down covering his bare legs and that would never do. Erik unbuttoned him all the way and ran his hands up the insides of his thighs while Charles knelt above him and shivered.

“Look how lovely you are,” Erik whispered in awe.

He was just right: not too much hair, not too little, not too much bulk but by no means too soft. He was the perfect size too, Erik decided, as he threaded his fingers into Charles’ curly, short hair. He fit perfectly in Erik’s hand and he watched Charles’ hips stutter forward as he tightened his grip.

“Erik….!” He hissed and scooted closer on his knees. Erik rubbed the foreskin together between his fingers and Charles bit his lip and caught his breath.

“Erik! I can’t—It’s been a _very_ long time--” he tried to push back but Erik understood what he needed now. He held him firm and reached around with his other hand to cup his bum forward. “Then let me fix this, please,” he said as he stroked a low moan from Charles.

“Oh, oh, _oh--!”_ and he was coming in Erik’s hand, white and warm and wet.

Erik let his head rest back against the bed and smiled.

In that moment, he felt as though there were nothing more he needed in the entire world.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for unreliable narrator. This may adversely effect the characterization of the actions and attitudes of certain healthcare workers.

“I’m an awful person,” he said as Erik shut the door to their bedroom behind him.

“You’re not, really.”

“I’m lying to my kids!”

“For a very good reason,” Erik pointed out. He sat on the bed beside Charles’ open suitcase and began refolding the t-shirts inside. The surgeon had said he wouldn’t feel like doing much directly after the procedure. Charles took that to mean all he’d have to pack for his “conference” this weekend was clothing fit for lying about and watching television. He quietly hoped that would be enough to distract him from dwelling on thoughts of betraying the trust of his children.

He flopped back onto the bed behind him with a sigh. It was only Erik in the room so he had no reservations about reaching into his pants and running his thumb over the spot on his balls that had him stuck in this whole horrible mess in the first place. He tried (as he had been doing increasingly frequently while the date of the surgery drew nearer) to imagine what it would feel like to only have one little friend down there after it was over. Would there be a lot of loose skin? Would he even notice unless he paid attention? The surgeon had said they could put in a prosthetic during the surgery if he wanted… He had asked Erik how he felt about it.

“Why would you have that? Are there advantages?”

“Well, the way it looks, obviously…”

“How does it look, then?”

“The prosthetic? Or, you mean, how will it look after they take… after they take it out?”

“Afterwards.”

“Well, I imagine it will be sort of… lopsided. It’s going to feel different, certainly. When you, well, when you touch them, I suppose there’ll only be one if they just leave it without the prosthetic…”

“Does that bother you?”

“I-I don’t know… I thought it might bother you actually…”

“Why would it bother me, Charles? I only want for you to be healthy.”

“But you… you like my balls! I just, I don’t want you to be… weirded out, I suppose, when you go to play with them and there’s only the one…”

“Charles,” Erik said, taking his hand, “I don’t care about what your balls are going to look or feel like. I only care that you are going to be healthy again, yes?”

“You say that now…” Charles had pointed out miserably. He had allowed himself to be tugged into a hug though and thought he could always have the prosthetic put in later if it seemed to be an issue. If there was a later…

…he pushed that thought away. It was no use being maudlin.

“You must bring other underwear, _liebling_ ,” Erik said, bringing him back to the present. “Remember what the _doktor_ has said about the needing support afterwards?”

Right, yes, needing “supportive briefs.” Charles had always hated wearing briefs. They always felt too tight and crowded in there. Maybe that would be different, though, after they cut off one of his testicles.

He sighed again and got up to dig through his underwear drawer.

“I hate lying to them,” he reinforced.

Maybe if he said it enough he could convince himself it was the only thing that had him so upset.

Erik kissed him on the forehead and went back to repacking the bag.

\---

It took them an hour to get out of the house. As soon as ‘Ro had seen the suitcases she had dissolved into tears. True, from a psychology perspective, it was better that she cried than simply freeze up or withdraw as she might’ve done a year ago, but it didn’t make it any less heart-breaking to witness. He had done what he could to comfort her, to reassure her they would be back on Sunday, only a few days away and in the meantime she’d be safe with Raven and Scott and the others but she was inconsolable. There was only so much sense you could talk to a four year-old’s deeply seated fear of abandonment and separation anxiety. In the end, he had been forced to give her to Raven, still sobbing, to go upstairs while he and Erik slipped out.

“I hate this,” he informed Erik as they pulled out of the driveway.

“I know,” Erik replied, “but they will be fine with your sister and we must do this.” He patted Charles’ knee reassuringly as they sped away from the house.

Charles drew his knees up to rest against the glove compartment. He was in no mood to be reassured.

\---

“Charles?”

When he looked up the woman gave him a smile that was too warm for the circumstances.

“Are you ready? You can follow me…”

But when they both stood she interjected, “No, sorry honey, just you right now.”

“But, he’s my family!” Charles protested. They had assured him at the pre-op visit that Erik would be allowed back with him despite not being legally related. Charles needed him there. This was no time for them to change their minds or start being homophobic. Charles _needed_ him.

“He can come once we have you settled, ok? You’ll see him before the procedure, I promise.”

Still, Charles hesitated.

“But I need him to be with me--”

“ _Liebling_ , it’s ok, go with the lady, I will follow soon.”

“But I _need--_ ”

“It’s alright, honey, you’ll see him--”

Everyone in the waiting room was looking at them now. Erik was sitting back down, the woman walked over and was reaching for Charles’ arm. Charles was frozen, trying very hard not to hyperventilate. He was very aware what a terrible time this was to have his breakdown but it was too much. He couldn’t do it any longer, he couldn’t hold it together, he didn’t want to go back there alone, he couldn’t—

“Charles.”

Erik was holding him now.

“Charles, relax please. Breathe. I will come once they are finished making you ready. Just breathe and I’ll be there with you.”

“Do you promise?” Charles heard himself whisper.

“Yes, of course,” and he gave Charles a final squeeze before pushing him gently away towards the lady.

He pulled himself together enough to follow her into the pre-op area. The lady (she was a nurse, apparently) asked him a number of questions they had already asked at registration, checked his wristband several times and kept calling him “honey.” She coaxed him onto a bed behind a curtain like he was a skittish colt and told him to change into a gown.

“Make sure you take _everything_ off underneath, ok?” she reminded him through the curtain.

“Yes, I know,” Charles told her. He tugged the paper-thin gown around him tighter. Why the hell couldn’t Erik be here for this?

Next was anesthesia. They asked him the same questions, checked his wristband a few more times and then stuck a needle in his hand (“Little pinch now! See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”) and taped down an IV. Then the nurse came back and said something to the anesthesia people and they all left and murmured together outside the curtain. When they came back, the nurse said they were going to give him something to help him relax.

“What? I don’t need to relax, I’m fine, I just need my family to be allowed back and to get this over with,” Charles told them. He didn’t see why that was so unreasonable or difficult to understand.

The nurse gave him what he was sure she thought of as her Reassuring Smile.

They all left him alone then. They tuned off the light and brought him a blanket so he could “relax” and told him to push the call button if he needed anything. He almost shouted at them. He _did_ need something but they weren’t listening to him, he needed _Erik!_

Needless to say, turning the light off did not make him feel any better; it only gave him more space to think about all of the horrible things that could go wrong at home between now and Sunday. He turned over onto his side and picked at the tape over his IV. He tried to not listen to the other patients through the separating curtains. He tried not to hear the nurses at the center station talking and laughing like it was any other day—

“Mr. Xavier?” the curtain whooshed back and he blinked in the light.

It was the surgeon.

“How are you today, Mr. Xavier?” He was a big, congenial fellow with a broad pair of hands, one of which he offered now to shake. Oddly, Charles found himself thinking how small his testicle was going to look when those big hands grasped it between sterile fingers, like a little grape, and cut it out. They’d probably toss it in a cold metal bin and send it off to be dissected and scrutinized under harsh lights--

“I’m fine, thanks, but I would really like my partner to be here with me… you said he would be allowed back?” Charles tried very hard to keep his voice steady as he limply returned surgeon’s handshake.

“Sure, sure,” the doctor said, “We don’t allow family back while we’re getting you settled but it should be fine as soon as we finish up here… I just need to you to sign the final consent and then I’m going to do one last exam and then we’ll be set to go. Are you ready?”

“Um, no. No I’m really not,” Charles said quietly. The surgeon tossed his head back and let out a hearty laugh.

“Well, don’t you worry because my team and I sure are! We’ll take good care of you Mr. Xavier, I promise. Here, I just need your signature again here… ok, remember we talked about the risks and potential complications? I have to go over it again, sorry, but just protocol! There’s always a risk for infection, scarring, bleeding, blood clots…”

Charles couldn’t help it. He knew he should listen but his mind wandered back to the house, what his babies might be doing now, getting ready for school most likely—

“…up to and including erectile dysfunction, incontinence and impotence!” the surgeon finished happily. “Got it? Do you have any more questions about any of that? No? Great, ok let me just have a quick look here…” and, before Charles could move, he whipped the blanket back, tossing the gown away in one easy motion. “Oh good, you remembered to shave! The nurses will be pleased! One less thing for them to do…”

Charles was still recovering from the consideration of his potential for impending impotence when the surgeon took a purple felt pen from his breast pocket and scribbled his initials on the right side of Charles’ scrotum.

“Just protocol! Wouldn’t want to do the wrong one, now would we!” he chuckled and covered him back up as quickly as he’d been exposed.

“Well, I’m ready, you’re ready, anesthesia’s ready... if only the room were ready then we could get started!” He laughed again and whipped back the curtain so fast there was a flap of wind.

“Hey!” the surgeon shouted to the general bustle of people outside, “Let’s get this guy’s family back, huh?” He turned back to Charles with a grin. “Ok, no more questions for me? Alright see you in there, Mr. Xavier!” And he swept off.

Charles clutched the blanket closer and tried to catch his breath from the whiplash.

“At least the man seems confident,” he told himself.

\---

The clock told him it was only seven minutes before Erik came back to sit on a little spinning stool, cramped next to his gurney. The clock was clearly slow, however, because Charles was certain it could have been no less than an hour between the surgeon leaving and his first, true exhale since the waiting room.

Erik said nothing as he took his hand in his own, warm and strong and familiar. He leaned over the bed rail and kissed Charles before settling back onto his stool.

“I’ve been branded,” he told him as he moved the covers back to show Erik the surgeon’s purple scribble. “And apparently it was very considerate of me to shave beforehand.”

“Didn’t they tell you to do that?”

Charles nodded. There was a lump in his throat that was making it difficult to talk.

Erik squeezed his hand. “This will be fine, _liebling_.”

“I’m not worried about the surgery,” Why did everyone think that? Surely the surgeon knew what he was doing, had done it many times before, was capable of handling all of the hundreds of little unexpected complications that might arise… No, he wasn’t worried about the surgery.

“It’s the kids, I’m just worried about the kids this weekend.”

Erik crooked an eyebrow at him but Charles refused to think too closely about it.

Erik squeezed his hand again and reached up to run the other through Charles’ hair. Charles leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. They were stinging for some reason and the lump in his throat felt ready to burst any moment. He felt like he needed to go for a walk (or maybe a run) but didn’t think they would let him keep the hospital gown and he couldn’t see where his clothes had gone--

“Where are my clothes?” he asked Erik, looking around wildly. Where were they? He’d need them when this was over so he could go home, had someone run off with them?

“ _Liebling_ , hush, don’t worry--”

“I just want to know where--”

“Charles--”

He tossed back the blankets ready to get out of bed but the railing was in the way. He gave it a good yank but it still wouldn’t drop, why wasn’t it dropping, was it stuck? Was it broken? What if they couldn’t get it down and he was _trapped_ \--!

“ _Charles._ ” Erik was holding him by the shoulders, pushing him back into the bed.

One of them was shaking, gasping for breath and making the bloody bed rail rattle.

“I can’t get the rail down,” is what Charles tried to say but all that seemed to come out was a cracked little gasp and him tugging uselessly at the railing again.

“It’s ok, I’ve got it, here,” and Erik, brilliant, beautiful Erik found whatever secret lever operated the infernal thing and lowered the rail. Then he crawled into the tiny bed with Charles and wrapped him tight in his arms.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to do that,” Charles tried to tell him but wasn’t very effective. He really didn’t want him to go anyway. With Erik’s arms around him, it was getting easier to breathe.

Erik whispered hushed, soothing things into his hair until Charles stopped shaking. His face was wet with quiet tears when he finally found his voice again.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he whispered.

“I know you can,” Erik whispered back.

How could he be so sure? It wasn’t like either of them had ever done anything like this before.

He was just about to tell him that when the curtain came back and the nurse walked in again.

“Oh,” she said as Erik began to pull away. Charles missed his warmth immediately. He felt the hysteria rise up in his throat again.

“Sir, I’m sorry,” and she really did sound sorry, “that gurney really isn’t made for two people.”

“Yes,” Erik agreed as he sat back on his stool. He brought it as close as it would get to the edge of the bed and leaned in tight so he could still hold Charles with both hands. It wasn’t nearly as good but it was enough for Charles to bite his lip and keep himself under control until the nurse left and Erik could join him again.

“I came back to check on you, Mr. Xavier, and to see if you thought any more about wanting something to help with the nerves? We still have another thirty minutes or so until they can get you back to the OR.”

Charles was already shaking his head. “I’m not nervous about the surgery, I just--”

“ _Liebe_ ,” Erik interrupted quietly, “maybe this is a good idea.” He rubbed Charles’ hand.

“I don’t want anything more than what I need for the surgery!” The hysteria threatened to overwhelm him again, he felt it rising up like a hot puke. “I want to be awake when they take me back, not stoned!”

“You won’t be stoned,” the nurse said gently. “It’s just to help you breathe a little easier, bring your blood pressure back to normal and maybe let you snooze a little while we wait to start the case. We’ll wake you up in time to go back, you’ll be able to say goodbye and he’ll be there waiting for you when you finish. How does that sound?”

Charles looked at Erik. He nodded once and rubbed circles into Charles’ shoulders. So Charles took a shaky breath and mirrored Erik’s nod.

“I don’t really think it’s necessary,” he said as the nurse took a tiny syringe out of her pocket. She flushed his IV before slowly adding the medicine. Charles thought they were being silly; he wasn’t calm, certainly, but who could be when they had to be away from their family for a whole weekend? Not to mention the whole, time-to-cut-your-ball-off predicament as well.

At some point, the nurse left them alone again. Erik continued to rub Charles’ shoulders until they loosened enough to feel like shoulders again rather than concrete poured beneath his skin. His head drooped to rest on Erik’s forehead and he thought about how silly they were to think he needed to be drugged to relax. All he’d ever needed in the past was Erik. He yawned. They said half and hour at least… that was enough time for a quick nap, he supposed.

“Wake me before they take me away,” he remembered to murmur to Erik before drifting off.

Erik kissed him on the forehead in response.

\---

The next thing Charles knew, Erik was waking him gently telling him it was time to go back to the OR.

There were three other people around his bed now but it wasn’t as worrying as it probably should have been. He wrapped his arms around Erik and they held each other very tightly.

“I’ll be there when you awaken,” Erik told him.

Then they were putting a wispy blue hat on him and wheeling him down the hallway into a very cold, bright room. They had him scoot onto an uncomfortably hard and narrow bed in the middle of the room and Charles felt a ghost of his nerves returning. He shivered.

“Here, let’s get him a blanket,” a voice said from somewhere behind him and a blessedly warm blanket appeared across his chest and belly.

“Charles,” said a masked face peering upside down at him. “I’m Dr. Feldberg, the anesthesiologist,”

“Where’s the surgeon?” Charles asked. There were a number of anonymous people already in gowns and masks swarming around the room but none of them seem to have the build of his doctor.

“He’s scrubbing now. He’ll be in soon. We’re going to get you comfortable and asleep now, ok?”

Charles didn’t see how he had much choice but he nodded anyway.

“Ok, this is going to be on your face,” the mask smelled like plastic, “take a few deep breaths for me, this is just oxygen,” someone was taking his arm out of the warmth of the blanket, he turned to look, “They’re just going to start the medicine in your IV to put you to sleep, it’ll feel like it’s burning but won’t last, just take a few more deep breaths for me…”

Charles was staring at the ceiling. It was so bright in there he wondered how he’d ever get to sleep. His arm felt hot, burning but he resisted the urge to pull it away, he wondered where the surgeon was, what his babies were doing right now, were they being good for Raven or…

“Pick out a good dream, Charles, see you soon…”

\---

Charles watched the hem of the curtain flap as someone on the other side walked past. It looked squiggly like a snake he’d seen once lying in the grass at the House when he was a boy. Raven had laughed at him for shrieking when he saw it but then beat him running back to the shelter of indoors. He had been startled by it more than anything…

…Charles dreamed of running through the thick grass at the House with his sister while an odd-sounding bird chirped regularly in the background…

…he woke to the smell of Erik’s hands on his cheek. Erik’s hands always had a distinct smell he could never quite put a name to other than _Erik’s hands_ and the bastard had laughed at him when he tried to describe it one time, but it was the smell of _home_ and was one of Charles’ favorite things to—

“Charles? Are you awake _mein_ _lieber_?”

“Hmmm?” Charles asked. He felt like he had just had a week of the best sleep of his life. He stretched his arms above his head and down through his toes but—

“ _Oh!_ ” he hissed because that’d bloody hurt--

“Don’t move your legs like that yet, the _doktor_ said you will be quite sore…”

“…oh.”

And it all came back in a rush.

Charles opened his eyes and tried to sit up but Erik’s hand on his chest held him back.

“Slow, _liebling_ , slow,” and he helped him sit up slowly despite the ache that travelled all the way from his right side down to his groin in a smooth line.

“Shit, oh, shit, Erik, how did it go? Was it cancer? What about the kids?” is what he tried to say. All that came out, however, was a cough and something like, “Shi’owzit’ca’ser’ids?” and some drooling. Erik shook his head and, bless him, produced a plastic cup of water and a straw out of thin air.

Slowly he sipped and slowly it got easier to string words together in a coherent order. The trouble was he kept nodding off in the time it took to think to ask Erik something vital and for his mouth to put together all the syllables. Then the nurse came in at some point and took his blood pressure and asked if he was in any pain. Charles honestly didn’t think he felt so bad just lying there but Erik said, “yes, he is uncomfortable,” so it was probably better that she tapped another few milliliters of something into his IV anyway.

He had a doze again then for maybe a few minutes or maybe a few hours, it was difficult to tell, but when he woke, it was easier to think.

“Hi,” he said blinking sleepily at Erik.

“Hi,” Erik replied and gave him a smile and kiss on the forehead. “You are feeling better now, yes?”

“Yeah, I think so…” he tried his hands first and found them tingly like they’d fallen asleep. “How are the kids?”

Erik’s face did a complicated thing then where he frowned for a moment before smiling easily again. It would have been more alarming, Charles decided, if he hadn’t felt quite so much like he was in someone else’s body at the moment. He decided to push it aside and work on it later.

“They’re well, Charles, very well. I texted Raven when you got out of surgery and a few minutes ago when you first were awake. The babies are still at school.”

“Yes, right. What time is it? Was everything ok last night?”

“Of course, remember, you asked this already, this morning. Raven is very capable and they were well last night. You remember?”

“Yes... I remember now.” Charles took a deep breath and inched his fingers down his belly. He felt the bulk of a bandage but in a detached sort of way like he was feeling it on someone else’s abdomen.

“Do you want to know about the surgery? The _doktor_ came and spoke with me when you first got out.”

Charles needed a deep breath again. The bandage felt neat and square under his gown.

“…he said he would return after you were more awake. We can wait for him to speak about it if you would like.”

“It was…” he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, “…bad news, then?”

Erik leaned forward and settled his head into the crook of Charles’ neck and shoulder. “Nothing we did not already suspect.”

“Oh.”

They were both quiet for a time.

But Erik continued, “He said they took lymph nodes, as he said they may, but a bit of the skin also. It was… the _doktor_ said the tumor was very close to the skin at one point so they took it to be certain. It is not something he thinks to be noticeable though… just a small extra incision.”

“I guess benign tumors don’t often do that, do they?” Charles heard someone ask with his voice.

“The pathologies will tell us for certain what is next, Charles, there is no need to be guessing now.”

“But it isn’t really a guess at this point, is it?” he whispered back. It was as though speaking quietly would make it less real.

\---

Later, they were in a motel not far from the hospital. Erik had stepped out to find them dinner; he’d insisted even though Charles told him he didn’t feel much like eating.

Charles sat on the bed feeling around the edges of the bulky dressing. The surgeon had warned him not to remove it until the appointment the next day but the urge to see the final product was overwhelming… he peeled the tape back a bit and peeked beneath the gauze.

Was it a morbid fascination or simple human curiosity? Charles had no desire to see any blood or what his own mangled flesh looked like sewn back together he simply needed to know--

\--what, exactly?

There was a clear layer, like plastic wrap, covering the wound near the jut of his hipbone. The gauze was only a ruse to keep the real business out of view.

The edges were pink and puckered but tight, neat, straight, together seemingly by magic. He could see no suture poking out, no guts, no gore, no angry red marks, no skull and bones, no big black mark proclaiming “HERE WAS FOUND CANCER” as there rightly should be… just a neat little line that would someday fade to be hardly noticeable at all.

Fade, only if it was allowed to grow old.

There were tears then. They bubbled up from a fissure in his soul and when Erik came back he was holding a scrap of gauze splashed and swollen with misery.

Charles _hated_ feeling sorry for himself, he hated the weak, whining, complaining, the feeling helpless, feeble, useless--

\-- _impotent_

Erik rocked and shushed him like he did for ‘Ro on nights when there were too many bad dreams.

Sometimes, on nights like that, there was nothing more to do but wait for the tears to stop.


End file.
